Make Love, Not Tributes
by Duckgomery
Summary: The odds were never in their favour, Stan thinks to himself as he tightens his hold on Wendy's hand. The train moved on silently ever closer to their destination. But even if this was it, the end for him, at least he wasn't alone.
1. The Reaping of District Twelve

**Chapter One**

**The Reaping of District Twelve**

Kenny McCormick was running.

While some people, even in the god forsaken coal pit that is District 12 may go for a walk, maybe even a jog if they ever so felt inclined, no one really ran through the tight pathways in the slums. Unless they'd been doing something they shouldn't have been doing and needed to make a get away.

Kenny McCormick was always doing something he shouldn't have been.

When he finally wasn't able to hear the stomping or shouting from the Peacekeepers that were chasing him, Kenny slowed down his pace to an inconspicuous stroll, with an extra skip in his step that told anyone that knew him that Kenny had gotten away Scott free with whatever he'd done, and was happy about it.

On the edges of the slums barely stood a shack, and it was this shack that looked like it could be knocked over by the barest of breezes that Kenny ducked into.

'Karen, time to get ready.' Kenny pulled back his hood. The original colour was barely visible through the dirt and years that he'd worn it, making it look a dull brown.

'Karen,' Kenny starts to call again before a mousy haired girl steps out of one of two rooms that branched out from the main room.

'I'm moving, I'm moving. Shouldn't you be getting ready to?' Karen scrutinises Kenny's appearance.

'I'll do it in good time. Now, I have a surprise for you.' Kenny grins down as he reaches down the front of his jacket.

'Jesus, Kenny. What did you steal this time? You know you're going to get in trouble.'

'You only get caught if you leave evidence, which I think we won't.' With a triumphant sound Kenny pulls out a freshly baked apple scroll. It may be covered in dirt from his jacket, and slightly squashed from it's hectic journey, but it was still warm.

Karen's eyes widen.

'Come on, eat up. It's a special day after all.' Kenny hands the pastry over, watching as Karen holds the crushed cake as if it was something precious to be cherished. Eventually hunger wins, and Karen takes a bite, moaning at the taste.

'Oh my God, Kenny. It's so good. Have some.' She holds the pastry up.

Karen deserves so much better than this, Kenny thinks to himself as he shakes his head.

'Nah, I'm good. Swiped one for myself and ate it on the way over.' Lies, Kenny hadn't eaten anything since the day before, but he was always willing to sacrifice a meal or three if it meant his little sister didn't have to go as hungry.

'Now once you finish that, wash your hands and get changed into the green dress I patched up for you last night.'

The green dress was Karen's favourite, but in true McCormick fashion it had been close to falling apart. Kenny's fingers were still aching from a night hunched over it with needle and thread.

'Only if you wear the blue shirt and promise to leave your jacket at home.'

A stare down between the siblings commences, but as usual, Kenny backs down. Anything for Karen.

'You drive a hard bargain, you little monster. Especially after all I do for you.'

Karen simply sticks her tongue out before running off into the washroom.

Running his hands through greasy, dirt covered hair that used to be blonde, Kenny enters the other room.

'Ma. You need to get up.'

Walking into the dim room, Kenny bends down and gently shakes one of the blanket wrapped lumps on the ground.

'Not now, Kenny. It's too early. Let Mamma sleep a bit more.'

'Sorry, Ma, but it's Reaping Day. We need to get going.'

The blankets fall away to reveal a scarily thin woman who blearily looks at her youngest son.

'Is it that day again already? Go get cleaned up and help your brother get your sister ready while I wake up your Dad.'

It's all Kenny can do to keep a smile on his face, no matter how fake it is.

'Sure thing, Ma.'

Stuart McCormick was probably passed out in some dark corner of the District and most likely wouldn't make it to the Reaping Ceremony, no matter how hard Carol tried to get him there. They'd get penalised for him not being there, but what more could they really take away from them at this stage?

And Kevin. Kevin had been dead for little over two years now.

There was a saying in District 12, McCormick's are born in the dirt, live in the dirt, and die in the dirt. Kevin had only further proven them right, getting into fight after fight before the Peace Keepers' supplied a permanent solution.

Before leaving the room as his mother get's ready, Kenny gathers up the outfit he'd patched up the night before from the floor. It was more than slightly crinkled, but it was still by far the nicest thing he had to wear, even if the shirt, so faded that it was more white than it's original blue, was coming up too short on him. What did it matter if it didn't quite fit though, only have to wear it for another year or two, Kenny thinks to himself as he moves over to the washroom's door.

'Karen, you 'right?' Kenny knocks and waits outside for a response.

'Yeah.' Was the muffled reply.

'Need help with anything?'

'I can dress myself, Kenny. I am twelve you know.' And Kenny did know that, and Karen being twelve terrified him. It could be her name that got called out today, despite the fact that her name was only in the ballot once, there was still a chance that she'd be selected and shipped off to the games and that was the last thing Kenny wanted for his baby sister. The last thing Kenny wanted for anyone, but unfortunately the games were a way of life and were just one of those terrible things that happened for the 'greater good' of the people.

'Well, if you're all good and ready can I come in and scrub off?' Kenny opens the door and steps in to the sight of a frustrated Karen struggling to braid her hair.

'Come here, let me.' Kenny sits down on the edge of the bath and Karen sits down between his legs, her back facing the metal tub. With thin fingers long practiced, Kenny begins to weave Karen's mousy brown hair into the braids she always admired a lot of the older girls wearing.

'There we go, pretty as a princess.' Kenny declares once his work is done. Having been given the all clear, Karen pushes herself off the ground and rushes over to the dull and cracked mirror, admiring her new do.

'It's so unfair that you're so good at doing this, Kenny. So unfair.' Karen chastises, turning her head this way and that to try and see every twist and turn that Kenny has woven in with nothing sort of admiration in her voice.

'And now you're all good to go. Go check on Ma while I try to make myself as presentable as you, 'kay?'

''Kay, Kenny.' Karen smiles before bouncing out of the room.

Kenny hears her talking to Carol, along with Carol gushing about how Karen looked as he strips down and steps into the murky and cold water of the tub. An old shoe brush in hand, Kenny goes to work, attempting to scrub as much of the caked on dirt off his skin as he could.

Walking to the Hall of Justice on Reaping Day was always a nerve racking experience. There were extra patrols of Peacekeepers marching around in pairs, leering at the pale and terrified faces all heading in one direction, with their hands on their shock batons, ready to whip them out and enforce disciplinary measures at a moments notice.

Kenny squeezed Karen's clammy hand in a reassuring manner, leading her through the defeated masses towards the sign in desks.

They'd already said their goodbyes to Carol, embracing each other as if it were the last time they'd get the chance, before she went off to try and find their father.

'I'll be watching and will see you afterwards, 'kay?' Carol had told Karen as she tried her best to hold her close while not ruining the braids Karen was so proud and excited to wear.

'Promise me you'll keep an eye out for your sister, Ken.' She'd whispered into his ear as Kenny held on for dear life. Kenny nodded.

'Always, Ma. Always.'

As the two of them began to near the line near the sign in desk, Karen began to lag behind. Turning to face his sister, Kenny crouched down in front of Karen and took her face in his thin hands.

'Hey, it's going to be fine. Perfectly fine. 'kay? All you need to do is hold out your finger, there will be a prick which will barely hurt, and that's it. Just a drop and you're done. I'll walk you to the other girls once we're done and then it's just standing about while names are read out and then I'll find you again and we'll go get Ma and head back home. Then it's done for a year. Do you think you can do that?' Kenny keeps his voice low and steady, wiping the corner of her brimming eyes with his thumb.

Karen nods with a sniffle, trying her best to be strong and it hurts Kenny to know that his sister has to put on such a face.

'That's my girl.' Kenny smiles before bringing himself up to his full and unremarkable height. His hand finds Karen's and holds on tightly as they make their way to line up behind the other meek lines of children.

If Karen could put on a brave face so could Kenny. As the needle dug into his finger, droplets of red seeping out of the small wound, Kenny does his best not to flinch or let out a sound, knowing that Karen was watching. His finger pressed down on one of the sectioned sheets of paper, Kenny looks back to Karen, tossing her a reassuring smile as the bored attendant scans the drying smear with a small silver scanner. As soon as it beeps, Kenny is dismissed and Karen is called forward. As desperately as Kenny wants to stay there and hold her hand through all of this, he knows that it's not allowed so he moves to a spot not to far away and waits.

'You lied.' Karen whines as she walks over, her left hand gripping a finger on her right where the blood sample must have been taken from.

'I know, but you did it, so what harm is a little white lie.' Kenny places his hand on her shoulder and leads her towards the two group of kids standing before the stage like a heard of cattle.

'Still hurt.' Karen pouts and it's all Kenny can do not to laugh. Laughing was one of those things that you just didn't do on a day like today.

'Alright. I need to go now, but it won't be for long. Just stand still, keep calm, and everything will be alright. You hear me, Princess?' Kenny pulls the smaller body close to him.

Kenny can feel Karen nod against his chest, as well as her thin arms wrap tightly around him.

'Everything is going to be fine. I promise.' Kenny tells her as they finally pull away before heading in different directions.

Kenny didn't pay any attention to the other boys pressed around him, to busy craning his head around the crowd in order to take a look at the set-up this year.

While it was generally the same as it had been the past four years Kenny had had to stand in this crowd before the stage erected in front of the Hall of Justice, there were always a few small changes. Whether it be the increased size of the screens, new flags flapping on freshly polished poles, or even the new Capitol speaker allocated to the district. It seemed they had a new one for District Twelve every year and Kenny could not quite put his finger on why. Sure, they were the poorest district, and had barely a winner in the previous sixty nine years the games had been running for, but that was no reason for them to be considered a lost cause. Though Kenny decided he couldn't quite fault them. If he had a chance to get out of this coal dust covered cage he'd leave and never come back, as long as he could take Ma and Karen with him.

Kenny was so caught up in his musings that he didn't realise that the Capitol speaker had taken stage, flanked by two Peacekeepers and had begun their speech on the games and what they represented.

When the film started playing Kenny tried to focus on it, but found it difficult because it was the same thing he'd seen every Reaping day. The same rough voice, the same scratchy video, the same propaganda. Kenny just wanted this to be over with so he could find Karen and go home.

'And as always, ladies first.' The woman speaks in an accent that had to have been forced because Kenny knew for certain that none of the other Capitol speakers had sounded as ridiculous as that. Then again, no two had ever sounded alike.

A hush had fallen over the District as she stuck her hand in a large glass bowl filled with hundreds of little slips of white paper. She smiles to the crowd as she swirls her hand through the names and lives within before making a show of pulling out a single white strip.

'And the lucky lady who'll be participating in this year's Hunger Games for District 12 is-'

And the world goes silent for Kenny as the speakers lips seem to move in slow motion. The girls seem to push away, leaving whoever's name was called out to stand alone and be singled out by the Peacekeepers before they were escorted to the stage. This year's girl, barely twelve, walks slowly, shock painting her features and paling her face. The green of her dress brings out her brown eyes and the intricate braids, that her brother had done up this morning that she'd been so happy to be wearing, kept her mousy brown hair out of her face.

Kenny brought up a hand to cover his mouth to try and muffle the sob and he was sure he could hear his Ma somewhere in the back of the crowd crying out against the decision.

He'd promised her that everything was going to be alright. He'd promised Karen that nothing bad was going to happen. Kenny had promised Carol that he'd look out for her. And here Karen was, standing before the district as the latest sacrifice to the yearly games and there wasn't anything Kenny could do about it.

'And now, the boys.'

'I volunteer as tribute!'


	2. Sweet Hearts

**Chapter Two**

**Sweethearts**

Stan Marsh looked out of the train's window and watched the world pass by in a blur of colour and clear skies. If this was under any other circumstances Stan would've been ecstatic to be in a Capitol grade train. Exploring every last nook and cranny of the vehicle, stuffing his face with the wide spread of fruits and pastries laid out for their morning meal, and generally enjoying the level of luxury that seemed near average for the Capitol citizens if the actions of the Capitol worker allocated to District Ten was anything to go by.

As Stan and Wendy had boarded the train, Gregory sat the two of them down in what he had called the sitting cart of the train. It hadn't looked anything like any of the sitting rooms Stan had ever been in, which may have had a couch or two, maybe a rug on the floor with a table somewhere. The cart was heavily carpeted with hard wood furniture crammed in everywhere, draped in blankets and stuffed with heavily embroidered cushions. Fresh, exotic flowers stood proudly in vases of every colour from any available surface, and as impressed as Stan was with it all, it just seemed a bit over excessive. He reached over to take Wendy's hand in his own, beginning to feel increasingly nauseous with what was going on and was glad when she tightened her grip in reassurance. The two of them were in this together, and Stan realised that he wouldn't want anyone else to be by his side in the games, even with what waited at the end of them. Well, it wasn't that he wanted Wendy to have to compete in these games in the first place, no-one should, but there was no-one else Stan knew who was more capable than the girl who had been his best friend, closest companion, and childhood sweetheart than the one pressed against his side on the over furnished couch.

A trolley had been brought in, laden with trays upon trays of food that was set out on the tables scattered around the room, and two flutes of champagne were placed before the two tributes before Gregory had spoken up.

'I know that this is a lot to take in, but it isn't so bad. The Capitol takes great care in giving all Tributes a taste of luxury and comfort as a peace gesture so your next few weeks should be seen as a holiday of sorts.' Gregory's voice was full of false cheer and he couldn't meet either of their eyes as he spoke.

'We're both from District Ten, which I'm sure you know, Gregory. Don't try and dress up "humane" slaughter to those who've been raised working on farms and in abattoirs. We know what's going on.' Wendy snaps. Gregory let's slip a snort which only sets him into a fit of laughter.

'You're right, you're right, and I extend my apologise. Before the games begin us Capitol workers are put through what they call a training and sensitivity session and I guess it comes out on autopilot.' Gregory's laughter tapers off.

' The games are inhumane, and feeding you up like pigs and dishing out makeovers isn't going to make what's happening right by any standard. I'm so sorry for what's coming up and if there is anything in my power that would help make these next weeks any more bearable, feel free to ask it of me because it's the very least I could do.' Gregory offers, voice sincere.

'Now, I need to drag out your previous district champion to give his very own inspirational speech about how fine and dandy everything is going to be. Sit tight and try those pastries with the blue glaze. They're to die for.' He says with a smile before sliding one of the paneled doors on the far end of the cart open and closing it behind him.

'At least he didn't try to cover it up. I could get used to that honesty.' Wendy turns to Stan and it hits him how pale she looks. When had her hand started trembling in his own?

'Yeah. Kind of feel sorry for others who get those ultra peppy workers. _This is going to be such fun. A real experience_.' Stan raises his pitch until it's nearly a squeal, causing Wendy to nearly spit out the drink she'd started drinking. After finishing the glass, she sets it back on the table before them.

'Really, Stan? Couldn't you have at least waited until I'd swallowed?'

'_Don't be ridiculous, darling. Oh wait until we shower you with more cushions and drapes and all other nice things that you're too poor and deprived to have been exposed to_.' He coos to her, sending Wendy into a fit of laughter, body hunched over and arms clenched over her abdomen.

'Stan, just stop. Please.' She wheezes out, wiping the corner of her eyes with the heel of her palm as she finally regains some semblance of the composure she'd walked with since her name had been called out at the Reaping.

'Well, you're smiling, so my work here is done.' Stan leans back, draping an arm over the back of the couch on Wendy's side while eying the platter of coloured pastries sitting in-front of them. The blue ones did look rather tempting.

Just as Stan had finished contemplating and was reaching out to make his selection, the door that Gregory had walked through was slammed open with enough force to cause both Stan and Wendy to jump. Through the door stormed the hunched and dirt covered form of the winner of the games ten years back, Christophe De L'Orne, though he was mostly known by the nickname he'd been dubbed with during the fifty ninth games, Ze Mole.

Christophe sat down on the couch opposite, kicking his mud coated boots up on the table, knocking the platter of pastries down on the floor in the process. In one smooth motion, he reached into his shirt, pulling out a pack of rolled smokes, lighting one up and blowing it out obnoxiously in Stan and Wendy's direction. Gregory looked more than irritated with these actions.

'Really, Christophe, you're twenty three, act your age.' The Capitol bred youth mutters loud enough for the cart to hear as he crouched down and picked up the soiled pastries, tossing the tray's former contents in an overly ornate trash can.

'Are you trying to tell me that I can't be unhappy? That I can't take out my frustration for what the cocksuckers in the Capitol have done and the crimes they've committed? Am I supposed to be gracious, get down on my knees to fully show my appreciation for all the lovely things they've done for me while fucking me over and over?' Christophe spat, hands waving about.

'You're allowed to be upset and outraged, just don't be a child about it.' Gregory rolled his eyes before turning to Stan and Wendy.

'Christophe, this year's tributes. Stan Marsh and Wendy Testaburger. Stan and Wendy, Christophe, the bane of my existence since I was assigned to your district.'

Stan began to feel self conscious as Christophe eyed the both of them. He could pretty much feel the disapproval the former winner felt towards him and the curling of Christophe's lip in disgust did little to make him feel any better.

'You. You need to harden the fuck up, softie if you want to last past the initial slaughter,' Christophe pointed to Stan, causing Stan to sink further into his seat. There was something scary about this man despite the fact Christophe would've been about a head shorter than him if they were both standing.

'And you, girl. You look like you have promise, but even I can see that you're full of yourself. Get humble or get dead.' This time his words directed at Wendy, who bristled in her seat. Stan could see her jaw clench out of the corner of his eye and knows that it's taking all of Wendy's control to sit there quietly.

'Why not say something nice and motivating, Christophe. I'm sure you can manage that, sunshine.' Gregory said with a sigh. Stan wondered how many years the two had to work together in order for Gregory, a born and raised member of the Capitol, to just go along with Christophe and his 'personality'.

'You want motivating? I'll give you motivating. ' Christophe sat up straight, deliberately making a mockery of Gregory's own "proper" posture.

'What you two need to do is embrace the probability of your imminent death, and know, in your heart, that there is nothing I can do to save you.' As soon as his bit was said, Christophe slumped back in the sofa, taking in a big drag of his cigarette and looking to Gregory for his reaction.

All Stan felt was the roiling of his stomach, the burning in his throat, and everything came bubbling up at once. Diving to the trash can that Gregory had deposited the pastries into, the food he'd had this morning before the reaping made its way up. The sound of his retching filled the cart until Christophe started to laugh sardonically.

'Happy Hunger Games, you poor unfortunate souls.'

After Stan had finished emptying his stomach, Gregory decided to show the two tributes to their rooms, leading them down the barely rocking train to their quarters for the journey. There was nothing more that Stan wanted to do right now than to just fall asleep and hope that he'd wake up to his mum shaking his shoulder, telling him that he needed to get moving or they would be late for the reaping. He even wouldn't have minded waking up to one of Shelly's wake up calls, which entailed hauling him out of the bed and dropping him on the ground. She claimed that she did it to build Stan's character, and it was honestly one of the things Stan never thought he'd miss about his older sister. She hadn't done anything like that in years.

The room, behind the dark wood door was as overly ornate as the rest of the train. Flopping back onto the bed, Stan sunk into the layers of plush blankets and pillows and wondered how anything so soft could be considered comfortable. In fact, the longer he spent there trying to sleep, the more he realised that it wasn't something he could do. Not here, not in this place that was full of too much of everything he thought he wanted, having dreamt of such luxuries from a young age. He didn't want them like this though.

As Stan stared at the low hanging chandelier, examining the glass beads and leaves dangling from it sway with the slight motion of the train, he didn't notice the change of daylight to the murky dark of evening. Struggling to pull himself up against the depths of the overly plush bedding , Stan's stomach decided to make it known that it was empty and that Stan should probably do something about it.

How hard could it be to find something to eat on a train like this anyway?

Eventually finding his way back to the sitting cart from the afternoon, Stan spots Christophe, sitting on the floor, legs crossed. Christophe was busy chasing down the taste of the cigarette he was inhaling with some deep red wine that sloshed around in the decanter the shorter man held loosely in his right hand.

'Where's everyone else?' Stan broke the thick silence that hung over the room as soon as he'd closed the door behind him. He wasn't even sure if Christophe had heard him, his head lolling left and right, up and down, just like his dad in recent years at night whenever the reaping grew closer.

Rather than wait for an answer from an unresponsive audience, Stan stalked through the carriage, noting that the platters had been replaced with fancy hors d'oeuvres that made his stomach more insistent than ever that it wanted filling. Grabbing one of the cloth napkins and unraveling it from the bird shape it had been twisted and folded into, Stan loads the fabric up with as much food as he could fit. He noticed that there were a few bare sections on some of the platters and reasoned that Wendy and Gregory had already been here. Stan made note to track down Wendy after he'd eaten.

'Marsh, sit with me.' Christophe announced.

Snapping his head around to stare at the former victor earnt Stan a look of impatience from the inebriated man.

'I don't have forever, Marsh.' Christophe added as Stan nearly tripped over with the speed he'd moved. He'd heard that tone of voice enough to know that he wasn't going to be asked nicely again. As Stan ungracefully sat himself down opposite Christophe on the ground, the man snorted at him before reaching over and helping himself to a handful of food from Stan's small pile. The look Christophe shot him dares Stan to say something about it.

The cart was silent besides the sound of their chewing, along with the occasional gulp and heavy exhale from Christophe.

'How's Shelley these days?' Christophe asked, eyes locked down towards the dark stained wooden boards.

'Uh, as good as she can be, I guess.' Stan answered, the food sitting funny in his suddenly traitorous stomach. Most people didn't ask after his sister anymore, not after what had happened during and after her time in the games.

Shelly had been seventeen, a year old than Stan was now, when she'd received the honour of being the victor of the sixty third games. What had been unusual about the broadcast was the fact that she wasn't there to stand before the Capitol to receive the honour. Shelly had been in Capitol grade intensive care for weeks before she was deemed well enough to be returned to District Ten. No one other than the Marsh family had seen her since the Victor's Tour the following year. Six years later and her face was still a smashed, raw mess; metal pins and braces all that were holding much of her lower face in place because the bones just wouldn't heal together properly.

'Ever had any other family in the games?'

'Nope. Shells was the first and I'm equally unlucky.' Stan forces a smile.

'Bah. Don't think like that. For all you know, being a winner could run in the family. Think of it as a legacy.' Christophe laughed bitterly.

'By all accounts it should be your sister being all inspirational, but I can't ask that of her. I owe her this much at least.'

'You did everything you could've. You got her home. You don't owe her anything.' Stan raised his voice. Christophe wasn't phased in the slightest.

'I could've done more though, but I fucked up. I always fuck up.' Christophe's voice hitched at the end.

'I think you've had enough to drink. We still need you in one piece for a while yet.' Stan decided, as he reached over, yanking the decanter out of Christophe's calloused hands. He hoped he'd managed to convey the same tone his mother did when his dad was in a similar state.

Christophe fell backwards as his bitter laughter filled the cart.

'One piece, I wish. Haven't been in one piece for a decade, Marsh.' Christophe wheezed out, raising his right leg as he reached up to fumble with the leg of his pants, pulling it down to expose the skin above the top of his boot. Instead of skin though they was a prosthetic, as battered and dirt crusted as the rest of Christophe.

'All gone from the knee down. There were a lot of wild animals in the arena that year. Hungry beasts. Starving dogs. I hate dogs. They grabbed my leg and tore it up like it was those fancy little finger foods.' Christophe wiggled his fingers in the air for emphasis, still reclining across the floor.

'Want to know why they call me 'Ze Mole'?' Twisting his head to look at Stan with unfocused eyes, Christophe waited for the other to nod before continuing.

'Managed to grab a shovel, useless for killing unless I could sneak up and get a good blow in, which I didn't get the chance to do. So there I was, dinner for those fucking dogs, and I crawled away, shovel swinging, what little good that did. Oh, keep an eye out for traps as well because falling into a pitfall isn't fun, but at least there wasn't any more dogs down there.'

Stan looked up at the far door from the end of the train he hadn't explored yet as it opened quietly, Wendy and Gregory treading through softly as not to disturb Christophe from his rambling.

'No dogs, but I was a sitting duck with no way out, so what could I do? Rather than stay there, waiting for someone or something to find and put me out of my well earnt misery, I take my useless shovel, and guess what I did?' Christophe paused, waiting for an answer, forehead creasing from the lack of immediate response from his audience.

'You dug a hole.' Gregory fills in with a tone that makes Stan wonder how many times the other man has listened to this monologue of Christophe's.

This earnt a smile from Christophe.

'That's right, I dug into the side of the pit, enough so I wouldn't be visible to anyone looking in, except if they saw the entrance to this new hole. So I dug further, using the fresh dirt to fill in where I had been so no one could find me. No trace left behind. But I had to keep moving but stay hidden, making smaller holes along the way that lead to the surface so I wouldn't suffocate. I was right under their noses for days before they eventually all got picked off. All except for me. Leg was in agony but had to keep going.' Christophe paused for a moment, hands moving as he tossed over something in his mind.

'Make sure to keep wounds clean. Infection is a bitch.' He finished with before falling silent, his breathing having evened out.

Gregory took the opportunity to grab Christophe's arms, pulling the shorter man upwards. With one arm around Christophe's waist, the other holding Christophe's left arm across the back of his shoulders, Gregory turned to Stan and Wendy.

'Someone needs to be put to bed, but I'll be back in a minute. Don't let whatever this filthy, drunken idiot said get to you.' Gregory said before leading a barely responding Christophe out of the cart and towards where the bedrooms were.

'You okay, Stan?' Wendy asked from her seat on the couch, prompting Stan to move up from the floor and sit beside her.

'Yeah. He asked about Shell, and,'

'You don't need to say anything you don't want.' Wendy interjected, her hands grasping his.

'What's going to happen to us? No one was as tough as Shelley and look at what happened to her.'

'She was all muscle and was reckless, went in looking for a fight. We've got each other, Stan. We're going to be fine.' That's what Stan loved about Wendy. She knew when to be brutally honest with him where others would feel the need to tiptoe.

'With your brains and my muscles, we'll be invincible.' Stan broke his hands from Wendy's to pull her against his chest. It wasn't long before Stan felt her relax against him.

'So what were you and Mr. Gregory Capitol-boy doing?' Stan looked down at the top of Wendy's head.

'Gregory was going over game stuff. He knows quite a lot about the finer details and little things that can make all the difference in what he calls 'the media circus'. He's promised to double his efforts on the sponsor front, due to Christophe's people skills. I think we got lucky, with those two.' Wendy murmured into Stan's shirt.

'Pretty boy and bitter drunk is your definition of lucky?'

Wendy pulled back enough to offer a half hearted glare at Stan before sinking back against him.

'What we have is someone with a head for strategy as well as another who knows how to think quickly under pressure. It could be worse.'

'How so?'

'It could've been only one of us here without the other to watch their back. Now stay still, you're comfortable' Was all Wendy offered before her breathing grew heavy. Stan didn't have the heart to wake her up, or move her on the off chance that it would've deprived her of the sleep she so desperately needed. With Wendy pressed against him, Stan realised that that was what was missing from the over stuffed room he'd been given earlier. Wrapping his arms around her tighter, Stan settled back into the couch for the night.


End file.
